Old Cocks Die Soft In The Mud Poem by Melvina Germain

Youth standing beside an old rogue
uplifting dead spirits, bringing them to
life once again. Dressing an old king
who indicates he needs a young friend.

Falling in the clasps of a sordid mess,
an old codger could not pass the test.
To the pit of horror, his scum released,
a racist demon unfolds it's crease.

Poor, poor man, years unexposed but
as time comes to end, before the
inevitable takes it's place, an old man
is placed in the hot fire of disgrace.

How do we fare, the youth that brought
him down or was it innocence who
threw in the towel and a demons catch
threw a long home run. A struggle
begins within the deep seated bowel.

Anger begets a scorned, wretched man.
His rage is ugly and his words are dark.
He fires the sword far because he can.
Words so deep marred with dirt, an old
man strikes a young woman down.

A bombastic woman with strength of a
tigress. His sword bounced back and
left no scars, only a smile etched upon
the face of venus and mars.

Old cocks die soft in the mud. Jagged
knives, piercing eyes, crocodile tears,
wear many a disguise. The betrayed,
betrayed by an innovative youth awww
telling it like it is, in the vat of old
truth.